Duel In 221B
by Solvejg
Summary: Mycroft and Sherlock briefly revisit childhood


The last strains of the violin faded as the footsteps on the staircase grew louder. Sherlock was unsurprised to see his brother enter the flat, even at this hour of the night. He'd been expecting him to call since he'd read the morning paper.

He of course, knew why he had come, knew the questions he would ask, and knew it wounded his pride to come to his little brother for help. He smirked a little, but not enough to anger Mycroft more than usual. He did, after all, occasionally enjoy the little puzzles he brought, and didn't want him to stop. Not that he would ever admit that.

Sherlock had worked out a solution for Mycroft's problem two hours ago, and decided on launching into a rapid-fire monologue over meaningless pleasantries. His brother, probably, was expecting this. No point in delaying. He never even got up from his chair. Mycroft took a seat across from him, the tip of his umbrella planted between his recently polished shoes and listened, with the slightest tilt of his well groomed head. "Well then. I suppose this all seemed very obvious and dull to you."

"It seemed simple enough that I almost believed you would have worked it out for yourself. After all, you are fairly intelligent. "

"Perhaps I merely wanted an excuse to check up on my brother."

"Interfere in his business, you mean. You've never been sentimental, you've simply stayed involved with me as a means to your own ends." It began to rain, and the water on the window made the light from the street lamps dance on Mycroft's face.

"Believe what you will." He appeared almost, for a moment, as though his visit was through and he was about to stand and leave. But a thought seemed to suddenly surface that stopped him.

"Do you ever think back to when we were boys?"

"Rarely. Most of that time hardly seems relevant to the present."

"You used to ambush me with a silly toy sword."

"I recall. You screamed like a girl."

"Well, I was at least never mistaken for one, which is more than can be said for you." Sherlock eyed his brother, watching the shadows of the rain call attention to various parts of his face, seeing him now as a much younger person. Remembering the last time he dropped from the lowest limbs of a tree.

There had been no squeal of surprise from Mycroft on this occasion. Only a laugh as he pulled an improvised sword of his own from behind his back. The two had hardly been a match in age or size, but Sherlock made up for that with his determination. "I owe you a thump on the head," said Sherlock, and just like that, John's old cane was in his hand, his violin on the chair, and his body looming over Mycroft, who had brought his umbrella up to defend himself.

"Try me. I've been back into the old exercise routine."

"Mm. No results yet, I see. Excercise is best paired with a healthy diet." The cane lifted to block an unexpectedly healthy swing from the umbrella, and made a strong jab at Mycroft's stomach. It was knocked to the side, and the elder Holmes smiled.

The two men slashed and parried remarkably well within the confines of the flat. The back and forth carried on for several minutes, until John walked in.

"What the HELL are you two doing?" Sherlock froze mid - swing and had the decency to look slightly abashed from his perch on the coffee table. Mycroft cleared his throat and adjusted his tie. "Settling an old grudge. I'll be off then, gentlemen. Good night."

"Care to explain?" John turned to Sherlock after watching Mycroft as he descended the stairs.

"Not really, no." Sherlock returned the cane to it's spot beside the fireplace and went back to his violin. John crossed to the window and looked out just in time to see Mycroft rub his head in an uncharacteristically undistinguished manner before his umbrella blocked the man from view.

Knowing he would get no more information he turned back to his flatmate. If he hadn't walked in when he did, he would have sworn Sherlock hadn't left the chair all evening. "Interesting night then?"

"Mm."

"Okay. Well, good night." John heard the violin well into the night, and when it finally stopped, he could have sworn he heard Sherlock laugh.


End file.
